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The streetlights cast orangey orbs onto the midnight tarmac. An ominous silence hung over the street, broken by the dull thudding of trainers. He had no-where to go, no-one to see, and no real purpose, but he couldn't stop running. He had to get away. Away from the blood, away from the steel edge of the knife. He had lost control. It was highly doubtful that people would have suspected it, but then no traces of sinister thoughts as such, crossed their suburban minds.
Their "neighbour", to whom they sent an expensive looking Christmas card every year, and invited to social events where his wallet was needed, but never really got to know. He was nothing special; a single, workaholic of a man. Avon parties were clearly his calling.
He'd cracked under the pressure. She'd left him. The one woman he really connected with, the one he thought he...well, that was just it. He thoroughly enjoyed her company, and relished in her sweet charms, but he couldn't bring himself to say the word "love". That one word tied him down, locked him in. Four letters became four walls, closing in. There was nothing he wanted more than to be with her, and he cared for her with a fierce passion, but that one little word, four small letters, troubled him greatly.
And once again, he pushed someone away.
"It isn't enough, saying how much you enjoy spending time with me." she'd say.
She gave him a choice, and once again in life, he'd made the wrong irreversible decision. And once again in life, he'd turned to the clear glass surface, under the abyss of vodka, and for the first time, he lost total control.
He couldn't take the whispering of the women living either side of his house, oozing menacingly with sympathy, hollowing him out, until they had devoured every detail.
He still couldn't believe she'd gone. Unappreciated at work, unnoticed with his family. His flawless family, who showed little interest in his life.
She was the one person who took him away, made him complete.
And now she lay motionless in his kitchen, a sliver of silver protruding from her chest, a crimson river sprawling across the black tiled floor, chasing his ankles in a serpent like manner. On her lips was a heartfelt apology, words of love, and remorse. But they had never reached the air.
He'd cracked, and now he was running.